Grant Woods

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poem in a crowded park (1)

A bunch of dopes

pulling out wallets

pulling out chairs

they’re dead in the eye

exhausted

nodding off in their chairs

ill groomed

carrying things

carrying kids

carrying their woman’s purses

pockets full

overflowing

keys and toys

things that will be asked for

weighed down

heavy bellies

sitting in their laps

and up again

to fetch

to pay

to squash the spider

the American dream

died

with the American

man